Grayscale
by Silver Kitten
Summary: Complete! Dean knew it was just a matter of time before Gordon showed up again but didn't think it'd be so soon. And with his secret now out, Sam is not only a hunter, but one of the hunted. Sam!Whumpage and Dean!Angst. Reviews appreciated.
1. Reacquainted

**Grayscale**

Author's Note: Oh Em Gee, I'm whumping Sammy! But, there'll be plenty of Dean angst to go along with it. In any case, ultimately, you can't hurt one brother without hurting the other, insert nefarious laughter here. I'm so excited about this story. We all knew it'd only be a matter of time before Gordon found the boys again…and how convenient that certain, intrusive characters affiliated with Gordon know of Sam's secret now…oh, yes, this will be painfully fun to write, and hopefully just as well to read.

Warnings: General spoilers, and probably helps if you've seen 2x03 Bloodlust (such a great episode). Mild language ensues and future violence. Also, if you're not a fan of protective Dean and vulnerable Sammy (and vice versa) you probably won't like this. You've been warned.

Disclaimer: I'm just playing in Kripke's sandbox for a while. I'll clean up my mess when I'm done. Granted, it'll be a pretty large mess.

* * *

"So, we got a plan?"

"Nope."

"Is there a hunt, somewhere?"

"Nope."

"Uh, then where are we going?"

Dean paused with a folded shirt in hand, ready to place in a duffle, and looked up expectantly at Sam.

"I don't know, princess. Where do _you_ want to go?" He asked with his voice mocking something of a saccharine substance. He had the expression to go with it. Sam furrowed his eyebrows and huffed out a breath.

"Shut up. It's just…not like you to pick up and go somewhere without having anything in mind. Unless…something's bothering you," Sam said, and then stared at his brother awaiting a response, some kind of eye narrowing that told him he was right. And he was, as Dean quickly narrowed his eyes and then looked away. Sam almost smiled smugly, but refrained only so he could further interrogate his brother.

"So," Sam continued. "Are you going to tell me what's bothering you?"

Dean glanced once more towards Sam. "Nope."

"Do I need to beat it out of you?"

At that, the older Winchester couldn't suppress a small outburst of laughter.

"Please," Dean maintained a monotone steadiness to his voice. "Anything but that."

"Come on, Dean. Just tell me. You know I'll find out sooner or later."

"Then I'll take you up on the later."

"You're impossible. You'd think after all this, everything we've been through, that you might actually talk to me."

"I can't talk to you, Sam!" Dean snapped, and Sam couldn't control himself from shuddering a little. A few, forced breaths later, Dean calmed down. "Look, I can tell you this. There are some things you just would rather not know, okay?"

Sam shook his head and walked to the other end of the room. With his back towards his brother, he spoke quietly but anxiously.

"I don't need a lecture, Dean. I'd just like an actual conversation."

Dean lightened up a little, tried relaxing his tense muscles.

"Ah, this must be that time of the month for you, huh?"

Sam spun around and leered at his brother.

"Fine, I give up. I don't care why we're packing up and heading out for no apparent reason. I don't even care that something is obviously bothering you. And I don't even care to argue with you about it."

Dean scrunched his nose and made a face.

"Is this some kind of…" Dean moved his hands in the air around the vicinity of his head. "You know, reverse psychology deal?"

"It's whatever you want it to be."

"Smart boy," the older Winchester commented, and then sighed dolefully. "Alright. I just want to get away from here. For the past few days, pretty much since you 'came out' to Ellen…I haven't exactly had the best vibe about this place."

"Wait, so you're…scared?" Sam questioned, unable to hide the teasing aura to his voice.

"Dude, Dean Winchester doesn't get scared."

"Since when does 'Dean Winchester' talk about himself in the third person?"

"Since…just now. Thanks for asking."

"Hold on. So…what exactly are you scared about?" Sam redirected their conversation back to the central issue. Dean became slightly exasperated.

"I'm not scared! It's just a vibe…something doesn't feel right, doesn't feel safe. I can't really explain it…"

"I didn't think Dean Winchester ran away from things that couldn't be explained," Sam quipped, but his eyes still held concern as he looked to his brother. Dean just grinned.

"Dean Winchester doesn't run away…he _drives_ away—in a sexy, black '67 Impala." He countered, then zipped up his duffle. Sam rolled his eyes.

"Fine. So that's it- you have a vibe? That's why we're leaving, because of an inkling?" The younger hunter suddenly became very serious. "It wasn't like, a premonition, was it?"

"What?" Dean stated, his mouth slightly agape. "No, that's your field of expertise, Sylvia. Why would you think that, anyway?"

"Well," Sam moved back towards his bed and sat down, looking so young and worried that Dean could hardly stand to watch as he sulked in his quiet thoughts. "I was just thinking…you remember Andy? He had a brother, and each of them had…abilities."

And there it was, that incriminating 'A' word that made Dean cringe.

"Yeah," Dean said, not wanting to acknowledge what he already guessed Sam was getting at. "And?"

"Well…we're brothers. I have abilities, so I just wondered that maybe…maybe you did, too…and it wasn't _just_ me," Sam said, his voice moving down to a near whisper, and then he started to chew on his lip.

Dean dropped his shoulders and rubbed a hand down his face.

"This is going to be so Soap Opera," he muttered to himself below a breath and then walked around the bed and sat shoulder to shoulder with Sam. "It's not just you, Sam. I'm here with you. And I'm not going anywhere. You're not going to go through this alone."

"But I am alone in this, Dean. And I can't control it…what if…" Sam drifted off, and Dean was halfway nervous about provoking him to continue.

"No 'what if's. We're in this together and we'll figure it out, like we always do. Period. Now, let's just put what's happened here behind us and move on." _Please_.

"But…we don't even know where we're going."

"Something tells me you'll have an idea shortly," Dean said, hiding something in his words that Sam sought out but couldn't find.

"What? Why?"

"Because," Dean started, then reached in one of his bags and pulled out what Sam could almost swear was their old laptop, though he appeared he couldn't quite grasp the concept. Dean chuckled. "I know you've missed being Geek Boy as much as I've missed you being Geek Boy."

"Dean…what…how did…" Sam stumbled with his words as he carefully accepted the laptop into his arms and looked it over in disbelief.

"I asked Ash if he'd fix it up for you," Dean mentioned. "I checked it out myself and it works as good as new. Hell, maybe even better. I didn't know when I should show you, but I figure now's a good a time as any. So, here's lookin' at you, kid." Dean clapped his brother on the shoulder and stood up.

"This is incredible. I thought it was beyond repair." Sam said, staring at the laptop and tracing his fingers over the keyboard whilst practically mesmerized.

"Do you two, uh, need to be alone?"

Sam ignored his brother's remark.

"Thanks, Dean. I've been going out of my mind with boredom lately…"

"You mean killer clowns and living dead people haven't been exciting enough for you?"

Sam's eye twitched as he remembered the freaky looking clown, but easily dismissed any fear and put his attention back on the laptop.

"Guess not," he answered absently.

"Well, then I'll let you do your thing and find us some place to go, something exciting, 'kay?"

"Sounds like a plan."

"Meanwhile, I'm going to go get some gas and pick up lunch before we hit the road. That should give you enough time for you and the laptop to get…you know, _reacquainted_. Just keep away from my pile of clothes, they were just washed."

"Bite me," Sam said, barely suppressing an annoyed smile.

"Whatever," Dean laughed, then grabbed his jacket and headed for the door. "I'll be back in a while, so I hope you find us a good hunt. I know you'll be able to, being the research junkie that you are."

Sam nodded sharply. Dean was halfway out the door when Sam spoke up again.

"Hey," he called, and Dean turned to face him. "About what you told me, about the vibe you had? Are you going to be okay?"

The older hunter clenched his jaw and looked around the room, to find anything to look at that wasn't Sam because it was more difficult to lie if he was looking directly into his little brother's eyes.

"Yeah, Sammy. We _both_ are." Dean said reassuringly. He then took one more step outside, and just when the door was about to click shut, he opened it quickly and peeked in with a sly grin on his face. "Oh, and use protection. Wouldn't want to jam your _hard_ drive, huh Sam?"

The door was shut before Sam could warrant a response.

-:-:-:-:-:-

It didn't take very long for Sam to relinquish himself into the blissful act of research. He was so caught up in the moment—all the search results, news articles, web forums—it was almost too much of a good thing. He hardly recognized the knocking at the door.

He stood up, mindlessly wondering about who could be paying a visit. He supposed it would just be motel staff for some reason or another, but still his hunter instincts were prime as he cautiously opened the door and had the knife in his jeans ready for easy access—even if it was early afternoon. But his precautionary demeanor had apparently been for nothing as it appeared to have been just what he thought- motel staff.

A man with a sandy blonde goatee and a dark janitor uniform and hat stood with a wide grin plastered on his face. Sam made a quick glance to his ID badge and read the name 'Isaac'.

"Sam Winchester?" The man asked. His voice was gruff but seemed friendly—too friendly.

"What can I do for you?" Sam answered warily, but attempting to remain just as friendly.

"I just came to deliver a message," he said, then leaned forward and motioned for Sam to do the same. Hesitantly, Sam mimicked the secret-sharing position, but had his knife in hand behind his back, ready and alert. "You and your brother? Should have left a lot sooner, mate."

Sam's eyes widened and just as he pulled away he felt a sharpness prick his neck and a tingling sensation erupted from the point and traveled down his body. He dropped the knife and clenched his upper shoulder and the side of his neck as he staggered backwards.

Isaac was holding an empty syringe and smiled heartlessly.

"Have a nice nap, kid," was the last clear thing Sam heard, and then everything became jumbled and hollow as his vision slowly blurred into black stars. Soon enough, darkness rimmed his eyes completely as it closed in around him. He felt nothing but cold and empty, because he was too numb to be frightened. And then, there was only sleep. Shivering, exhausting sleep.

-:-:-:-:-:-

There was a nervous dripping echoing around him and a damp coolness to the air. Darkness controlled the room with a fierce prowess, preventing Sam from identifying his surroundings as consciousness slowly returned to him and he opened his eyes against the ever-strong drowsiness.

He wasn't aware of where he was, or how he got there, but he was very much certain he was heavily constrained. His arms were bound tightly behind his back and his wrists ached horridly. He was sitting down, or forced down, firmly against a rickety chair. Both his ankles were tied to each of the front chair legs. He attempted to move, but whatever sedative he'd been given still held a weakening effect on him that he desperately tried to shake off.

A quick, rigid movement scattered into the silence. Sam perked his head up and looked around, still unable to see anything.

"Dean?" He called, his voice scratched his dry throat and something in the air burned his eyes, forcing them shut. With a blinding flash, Sam realized the burning in his eyes was from the harsh light that suddenly filled the room. It was just as bad as the thick darkness, so unkind and callous to the eyes that he could hardly see until his sight finally adjusted.

He looked around at the large, empty room. He wasn't quite sure where he was yet, but he thought it safe to guess he was in some kind of cellar or basement, probably of something quite extensive such as an old warehouse. The walls were decorated with grimy watermarks and chipped, peeling dark paint. There weren't any windows that he could tell, just a trail of pipes along the upper walls and on parts of the ceiling which he followed to a bulky door.

Sam stared at the door and he could hear footsteps stomping in his general direction as each grew louder. He swallowed a lump in his throat as the door creaked open, at first revealing only new darkness, but then a figure emerged.

The man stepped in, who Sam fought hard to recall as Isaac, at least he thought that might be his name. But then Isaac moved into the room and opened the door further, and there he was, standing with an ice cold smirk in his eyes.

"…Gordon?" Sam gasped, hardly believing what he was seeing.

"In the flesh," he answered coolly, and then stepped closer to Sam, taking each step as that of a predator's—careful and determined.

"Where am I? Where's Dean?" Sam questioned, attempting to place authority and strength in his voice which he still felt was lacking.

"Dean will be here soon enough, I'm sure. But not for a while…I made my tracks easy to follow, but not too easy."

"What's all this about?"

Gordon laughed, nudging Isaac in the arm which made him laugh as well. He then walked in front of Sam and eyed him like a hawk viewing a helpless field mouse, his face twisted into a sick smile, and his voice cooed maliciously. "This is the thrill of the hunt, Sammy."

Sam looked from Isaac to Gordon with curious fear.

"Hunting…what?" he asked.

Humor left Gordon's expression and his smile was quick to never exist. He stared at the young Winchester, enjoying the gleam of panic and confusion in Sam's eyes.

Sam quivered as Gordon leaned down and spoke the answer chillingly into his ear.

"You."

* * *

_-:-S-U-P-E-R-N-A-T-U-R-A-L-:-_

**To be continued…**

_Interested? I hope. I'm trying really hard with this story to write something I can look back on months from now and still feel confident about it. Because, honestly, I re-read some of my older stuff and thought every reviewer was far too kind. But, I'm always seeking improvement…so, any tips/suggestions/complaints/feedback is so very welcomed and encouraged so I can learn how to get better yet. Flames, not so much, but I'll take what I can get and make the best._

_Thanks so much for taking the time to read. I'll update as soon as I can. _

_Silver Kitten_


	2. Ebb and Flow

**Grayscale**

**II**

Author's Note: You guys made my heart absolutely melt with such kind, kind words. Seriously, all the reviews, e-mails, PM's completely inspired me all over again. I meant to get this out sooner but I kept re-writing…and re-writing…and re-writing…and then I re-wrote it all! I figure I better post before I change the whole point of the story. Thanks for all the encouragement to continue, and also for your patience. I think I finally have this outlined the way I want it, so the parts should come quicker now. Let's hope Real Life permits!

Warnings: Bad language ahead. This is starting to get pretty dark…and it only gets darker after this. BUT, there will be a lighthearted ending at the end of this. And I'm still wary about my squeamish-factor…not sure if I have it, but I tried, lol. Poor Sammy's the guinea pig. Hope Dean'll forgive me…and you guys will, too. So, guess I should properly warn you about the end…it's kinda, well, possibly graphic, depending on personal taste. Anyway, enough from me…

* * *

-:-S-U-P-E-R-N-A-T-U-R-A-L-:-

Dean was in the line at a local gas station when his cell phone rang. He hastily shoved the snacks and drinks in one of his arms to use his other to dig in his back pocket and retrieve the ringing device. A thought trickled down the back of his mind. Something's not right…Shouldn't have left him…

"Hello?"

"_Dean?"_

"Yeah…who is this?" He asked.

"_It's Ash. Listen, I think there's someone looking for you guys…"_

Dean shuffled the food into a more secure position in his arms and placed the phone in the crook of his neck and shoulder to free his hand.

"What are you talking about?"

"_This guy came in…at first he was just picking up some intel on a hunt he was on…but then I heard the name 'Winchester' dropped a few times and really tuned in. He sounded real concerned about where you guys were. Ellen said she wasn't sure where you were going but you were leaving soon. But he kept asking a bunch of questions…Eventually, he and Ellen went to the back room to talk and I couldn't hear anymore…but shortly after, when he left, man, he booked out of here with some other guy, lookin' real serious. I don't know what's goin' on."_

"This guy, he have a name?"

"_Uh, yeah, um…it's on the tip of my tongue…just, uh, one sec…"_

"Ash…"

"_Right, um…ah, yeah. Walker. Gordon Walker."_

"Shit…" Dean muttered, feeling his entire body go rigid as a wave of nausea claimed him. He immediately dropped the chips and bottled drinks he had and ran out, ignoring the clerks annoyed calls from behind the counter, ignoring the odd stares he got from the other customers.

Within minutes, or seconds—he wasn't sure how fast he moved because he couldn't feel himself move at all—Dean found his foot on the gas pedal of the impala, set on his way back to the motel.

"I'll call you later, Ash," Dean said quickly, then ended the call and speed-dialed Sam's number. It rang and rang… "Pick up…pick up, pick up…" Dean mumbled. But it only rang.

And he pushed down harder on the gas.

-:-

Dean knew something wasn't right before he even touched the door handle. He knew something happened, something bad, before he even entered the room to discover it empty. So almost more than the pang of fear, there was a deeply striking sense of guilt as he peered across the vacant room.

"Sam?" He called through gritted teeth, already knowing he wouldn't receive a response from the taunting shadows of the room where secrets hid.

_Shouldn't have left him…_

"Sam?" He called louder, running from one side of the room to the other. He checked the bathroom, even checked the little closet in the corner that only held a useless ironing board and a few unoccupied hangers. He had half a mind to look under the bed…

_Shouldn't have left him…damn it!_

His eyes scanned the room for some bit of evidence, some clue as to who might have taken him or how he was taken. He glanced to the floor, behind the door. One of his brother's knives lay neglected. Suddenly, he felt his stomach well up with a prickly, hot pain that boiled across his body and he perspired with insecurity and anger. The now sweaty palms of his hands met his temples and he applied pressure, wanting to pull his hair out, wanting to yell, to run…and deep down he wasn't worried at all about the repercussions of what he knew he'd do once he found out who was responsible for Sam missing.

_Again. _

_Shouldn't have left him._

_My fault._

_Damn it…_

Dean swallowed hard. There was only place left for him to go for answers, and it was the place he wanted nothing to do with at the moment. But circumstances gave him no choice. He couldn't breakdown because Sam was gone. Not yet. He needed to stay calm, functional. He needed to find Sam.

He needed to get to the Roadhouse and find out what the hell happened.

-:-:-:-:-:-

"This is the thrill of the hunt, Sammy."

Sam looked from Isaac to Gordon with curious fear.

"Hunting…what?" he asked.

Humor left Gordon's expression and his smile was quick to never exist. He stared at the young Winchester, enjoying the gleam of panic and confusion in Sam's eyes.

Sam quivered as Gordon leaned down and spoke the answer chillingly into his ear.

"You."

Sam coughed a little, trying his best to ignore the dizziness that plagued his mind and crippled his judgment. He was scared, but he put on his best, most determined expression to appear fearless, straightening his posture and almost laughing. Maybe he could be intimidating enough to foil this plot to scare him. Maybe. If it was just a scare tactic…

"You know," Sam started warily, quickly noticing the frightened warble in his voice and swallowing it. "Last time I checked, I didn't have any fangs."

Gordon stood up and took a small step back, as if mulling over the remark. Sam, feeling somewhat brave, continued.

"And what's with this guy?" he asked, flicking his chin up to Isaac. "I thought you were the go-it-alone type. Something have you _scared_?"

Showing his teeth in a grim smirk, Gordon stared at Sam. He could feel the intended, covered speech fall out from Sam's bated breath and it grated him. '_My brother's going to find you and kick your ass for this.' _

Suddenly, Sam was wincing inward with a sharp pain as a heavy, unrestrained fist struck his face. His neck twisted painfully and his jaw tensed up, stiff and sore. He regretted the façade of macho fearlessness. It didn't work as well on him, and in fact, probably only made him seem weaker.

"I don't think I'm the one who should be scared right now," Gordon cracked venomously. "Especially when your big brother isn't here right now to keep your head attached to your body."

Ignoring the coppery taste of blood trickling down his dry lips, Sam pushed himself forward as much as he could, which wasn't very far given his constraints.

"He'll be here."

"Oh," Gordon snorted. "I'm counting on that."

Gordon then turned to the other man.

"Keep him occupied, Isaac."

And with that, he glanced once more to Sam and then headed out the door, slamming the door behind him. Isaac took a few steps around Sam.

"Why are you doing this?" Sam asked, nervous as Isaac had stopped circling him and now stood in front of him as if waiting for something. "I haven't done anything to you." He offered.

Isaac let out a gruff laugh.

"Don't even try and reason yourself out of this. Maybe you haven't done anything to me, but who knows how many innocent people will be hurt—killed—because of you. How many lives are already on your hands?"

"What? No…I think you've got it wrong," Sam replied ardently, using his voice to gain Isaac's attention as he focused his energy on loosening the ties that bound his hands and arms. "I don't kill people. My brother and I, we help as many people as we can."

"Help?" The other man repeated with a tinge of laughter in his voice still. He then leaned down, closer to Sam's face than personal space would normally permit. "I know what you are."

Sam gulped inadvertently, quietly working the ropes behind him, but kept his eyes on the threat.

"Look, I don't know what Gordon told you, but you can't trust him."

"No chance in hell I'd trust you over a renowned hunter. Gordon's taken down plenty of evil in this world, too many fangs and other despicable creatures, for me not to trust him."

Sam slunk a little in his chair, staring up at the other man curiously, worriedly. He'd seen the look too many times before, in his brother, in his father, in any other hunter he'd seen in action…that pained, disgusted expression as they stare upon the enemy.

"I'm not—"

Sam stopped mid-speech as his breath was stolen away from him a moment. Isaac had slammed his fist right in the pit of Sam's abdomen, some icy force of pain surged inside his gut and his entire body shuddered.

"I'm going to ask you a question. You're going to answer me. No games, no lies…no problems. Or else. Got it?"

Sam only nodded, still catching his breath from the off-guard attack.

"What exactly are the plans?"

"Need to be more specific," Sam said quietly, studying Isaac for some hint at what he was talking about.

"More specific, huh?" Isaac mused. He walked near the door, and on the ground there was about a two-foot long metal pole, a few inches thick at least. Isaac retrieved it and let it scrape against the cement floor until the itching echoes made the younger man cringe. He stopped in front of Sam and lifted the pole up holding it with both hands, watching Sam for the fearful reaction he so desired to see.

Sam sucked in a breath but didn't want to give Isaac the satisfaction of seeing him scared. Even though Sam was scared. Very scared. He just hoped for a moment or two to collect his thoughts, gauge the motives of the other man and Gordon, think of anything to say to get answers rather than give them.

But then without warning, Sam could only watch in idle horror as Isaac raised the pole and swung it blindingly fast across Sam's face. The harsh sound of metal and bone crashing together reverberated inside his skull, his jaw tingling with a sharp, throbbing ache. He could hardly even yell out in pain. The room spun madly around and around, and he could only look down at the floor to try and regain his mental balance.

"That was strike one. And I held back," Isaac sneered, and then calmly lowered his voice in a vacantly soothing tone. "Now, I'll ask again. What. Are. The. Plans?"

Sam swallowed the bile that had crept up the back of his throat. He took another slow, shaky inhale and hesitantly raised his head to look at the man.

"I don't know…what you're talking…about."

Isaac chewed on his cheek, trying to hide the wicked grin on his face.

"Strike two."

Sam shut his eyes as the swirl of metal flashed in the air, but this time the momentum was greater and the pain sprung from his upper shoulder. The world tipped over and he came crashing down on his side, chair and all. Most of the chair itself splintered and cracked from the fall, freeing his legs from the constraints. A dull, endless pain shot down the entire right side of his body, an ebb and flow of adrenaline coursing through him though he wasn't free to act on his fight or flight response.

He writhed on the ground, coughing out gasps and small cries, managing to slowly slide out of the broken chair backing that once helped hold him down. He arranged his body weakly on his back, staring up at Isaac who had a bitter look of contentment on his face.

He stepped over Sam, one leg on either side of him, and held the pole down on his chest applying the slightest bit of pressure, just enough to make him squirm.

"You know what happens after strike three, don't you?"

Sam was tired of seeing the enjoyment in Isaac's eyes, tired of being the victim, being treated like the enemy. He mustered whatever energy he had left, a ghost of a smile playing across his features.

"You're out," Sam said, his voice a dangerous but dying whisper.

And much to Isaac's surprise, Sam had freed himself from the ropes, both his hands grabbing a hold of his leg and twisting quickly. Isaac met the ground almost as fiercely as Sam had, the pole clattering a few feet away from them. He quickly scrambled back to his senses as Sam started crawling into a standing position.

Sam headed for the pole and Isaac seized him from behind, clenching his arms around his neck. Sam used his good shoulder to try and shrug him off, and when that didn't work he bit his lip as he forcefully used his right elbow and jabbed Isaac as hard as he could. It was enough of a jostle to get him to let go, and Sam, ignoring the pain as best he could, wrestled free completely. He grabbed the pole and swung it with what strength he had left across Isaac's head.

The elder hunter and pole both sank to the ground in a cold shattering of metal and muscle. Sam watched with hidden fear as Isaac stayed down on the ground, unmoving.

His entire body ached, his wrists raw, his vision slightly blurry. He let the chilling air around him in his lungs with raspy inhales and clung onto his shoulder. Glancing around the room once more, feeling paranoid someone would emerge from the shadows, he was fine enough to wait a few seconds before moving for the door when the coast was clear.

But something stopped him, something deep down in his stomach, something buried that was clawing at him from the inside out. He paused momentarily, rolled his eyes and took a nervous step to the man on the ground. He knelt down on one knee, used his less afflicted arm to reach down, felt for a pulse.

He sighed with something similar to relief before a quiet laughter rattled down in his chest.

"Damn conscience…" he mumbled to himself.

He then remembered that Isaac hadn't been alone in this endeavor. Gordon was still there, somewhere…

He quickly regained his stance and quietly approached the door, silently walked up the steep steps, and waited at the top of the stairs for signs of movement in the bold allies of shadows. When it seemed undisturbed by another's presence, only then did Sam dare to wander into the halls of the unknown.

-:-:-:-:-:-

The dwindling afternoon sun sunk below the edge of man's view as it covered the graveled landscape. Slowly, baleful clouds rose up and reached for the horizon, looming in the distance. The smell or rain cooled the air and colored the sky a light indigo, signifying the coming of a storm.

Whether the brewing storm was nature's inclination, or a manifestation of his petrified anger, Dean didn't care to match parallels while he marched up to the entrance of Harvelle's Roadhouse. He briskly ignored the "Closed" sign hung across the door, and much to his dismay found it still unlocked as he wasn't then able to kick it in.

The place was empty, deserted more likely, the typical clean-up chores left abandoned on the countertops and tables. It was almost as if they closed down early, quickly.

"Hello?" Dean's voice was demanding even to the silence.

Somewhere, off in a near distance, he heard something rustle. A woman's voice stretched out in the emptiness of the room.

"We're closed."

"I can see that," Dean sounded off.

Finally, the person he was looking for made an appearance through the back of the bar.

"Dean? I didn't know it was you…" she sounded surprised, truly. Or unnerved. "What can I get for you?" She was quick to compose herself and go straight to barmaid mode, ignoring the obvious tension in the air. Dean fiddled with a half empty glass on the counter and eyed her curiously.

"For one thing, you can get me an answer. Did, uh…Gordon pass through?"

"Well, yes he did. There's a vampire case he was working on. Wanted some last bit of information," she was fast to answer. "Thought you boys were heading out today?"

"We were," Dean said flatly, fighting his urge to snap. "Just had a few setbacks, you know? Now listen…I just want you to be honest, okay? I think you owe me that much."

"Sure, sweetie. What do you want to know?" Ellen was smart to keep her tone gentle and welcoming.

"What did you tell Gordon?"

"Gordon?"

"About Sam."

"Sam?"

"Yes, is there an echo in here?" Dean shot, agitated.

"I don't know what you're getting' at here," Ellen said as if she were offended. Her congenial tone was lost somewhere in a tough mask of an 'I don't have to answer to you' demeanor. She was about to turn away from him completely when the immediate sound of glass shattering against the wall grabbed her attention. She whisked around to face Dean and saw him shrug his shoulders back and straighten his leather jacket as his arm extended back to his side. The glass he twirled about was now lying in shards and pieces on the floor adjacent from him.

"Answer the damn question. Please."

Ellen placed both hands on her hips and shook her head.

"It started out about vampires, for what it's worth. One thing led to another, you boys came up…and anyway, Gordon…he just had questions. I had the answers. I only told him because he said he wanted to help. He said he could help. And he can, Dean, he—"

"Told him _what_?" Dean snapped and started biting his tongue so hard he was certain he tasted blood.

"About Sam's…abilities. About the demon."

Dean brought both hands to cover his face, breathed out harshly, and then slid his fingers roughly against his temples. He couldn't look Ellen in the eye.

"First off, it's none of his damn business. Secondly, why the hell would do something so blatantly stupid?"

"You and Gordon got off on the wrong foot. But Gordon, as much of a hard ass jerk as he can be, is a damn good hunter. He'll help out in any way he can, and you'll want his help."

"His help?" Dean threw his arms in the air. "He tried to kill my brother! Would have killed me, too. He doesn't want to help us with anything, he wants us dead!"

"You're being overdramatic, Dean. Honestly. He's gotten in fights with other hunters before and held no grudge against them later. This is all our war, we're all fighting for the same cause and he knows that. You may not like him, but he's good at what he does. Real good."

Dean could feel himself trembling with anger, betrayal, grief. Blood rushed against the walls of his veins, pounding ferociously throughout his body and throbbing with unsatisfied rage. After a few moments, a few long, deep breaths, he regained control of his emotions that were ready to break out. But his hard stare held all the intensity he needed while he glared at Ellen, numbly backing away before he did something he'd regret.

"You didn't tell Gordon because he could help. You told him because you're scared…Sam and his abilities, connections to the demon? Can't tell me it doesn't scare you," Dean breathed in and out rigidly, his voice so close to tearing it frightened him. He continued towards the door.

"Dean…"

"Just so you know, Ellen? Sam isn't the Winchester you should be so afraid of," he added. He then faced his back to her, hand on the door. "_I_ am."

Ellen didn't have a chance to say anything before Dean walked out, his presence replaced with a gust of wind filling the room, chilling her skin almost as much as the sincerity and veiled threat in his voice had.

-:-:-:-:-:-

Sam, as stealthily as he could, ambled through the darkness. He was surprised there were no lights on, and what little visibility there was came from the gloomy, fading light outside the dirtied windows that were aligned high across the tops of the walls in the warehouse. There was a lot of clutter around him and he guessed it was some kind of machinery all covered in tattered sheets and plastic. Conveyer belts, however ancient they were, weaved throughout the factory much like an array of assembly lines would be ordered about.

He inspected the shadows, looking through the maze of machines and scattered tables and railings, trying to find the nearest exit. He stayed as near to the wall as possible, could hear the raised howl of the wind so close by. He alternated between coddling his shoulder and his stomach, as both were sore.

He was certain he'd find the exit, certain he'd make it out and maybe even certain he'd make it back to the motel before Dean could find him gone.

He was certain he was giving himself false hope, painful ideals to help get him through.

And somehow, when he felt the cold steel against his neck, when he was shoved against the wall and held against his will, he was certain this had to be a nightmare. Just a bad dream. He'd wake up and Dean would be there. He'd open his eyes and Dean would be there. He'd start breathing again and it wouldn't hurt because Dean would be there.

But when he opened his eyes, and lights flickered on, dim as they were, all he saw were the damning eyes of Gordon.

And Sam wasn't certain enough if he was strong enough not to cry.

"Going somewhere?" Gordon inquired plainly, digging the knife into the back of Sam's neck. He thrust Sam further against the wall. His stomach ached against the pressure.

"Stop…I haven't done anything…" Sam begged for understanding.

"And you _won't_ do anything. I'll be sure of that," Gordon promised, edging the knife down the young hunter's back. "I just want to know how you live with yourself…knowing what you are."

"Like I told Isaac, whoever you think I am…"

"Not think. Know."

Sam struggled against the wall but Gordon was unrelenting.

"You, Sam…are one of the chosen ones. The Demon's."

Sam's heart raced inside of him, his pulse hammering deafeningly in his head.

"What…?" He could only ask.

"What's the matter? Didn't think I'd find out?"

Sam shut his eyes. He couldn't get away from this, from the truth of it all. It was more constricting and inescapable than any cage, any kidnapper, or any monster could ever hold him to. He felt Gordon slightly release him, withdraw the weapon from his back, but Sam was frozen and unable to move.

"Don't worry…we're not going to kill you just yet. Still need some answers…I did promise Ellen I'd help. And I plan on it, Sammy. Just like I help all the fangs get back to where they belong. The cold, dead earth."

Sam's mind was saying shut up, shut up, shut up, but still he knew there was some foundation of rationalism to this whole ordeal.

"But…" Gordon continued. "Don't go thinking you're invincible now. And if you're thinking about running away again…"

Gordon unexpectedly became silent. A chill of fear slithered down Sam's body and he was halfway tempted to turn and face his enemy. He slowly, apprehensively, started lifting himself off against the wall.

But there it was.

An explosion of pain, new and hot and scolding, erupting from the back of his ankle all the way up his leg, his body, up to his skull. A drilling scream ripped out of him, a tearful cry, wordlessly pleading for help, and he fell once more into the wall. He grappled to hang on to something, but instead only slipped farther down towards the floor, sinking into the dark pool of blood bristling out from under him.

He thrashed inwardly, a stinging sensation sliced behind his eyes, and it hurt so much he could barely breathe.

"Achilles' tendon. It's a real bitch to go without," Sam heard Gordon somewhere distant, somewhere behind the echoes of his own yelps and panting. And Gordon was laughing, laughing so far away, so far inside of him where all the pain was—everywhere. He dared to touch the wound, to do something to make the bleeding stop.

Blood…so much blood, his blood, covering the floor. And it hurt. Fuck, it hurt.

_Make it stop, make it stop, make it stop…_

The more he willed it to stop, the more extreme the pain was, burning inside his flesh.

Although countless thoughts and fears rushed to his head and out of his mouth in tremulous incoherency, there was one thing he heard clearly, some deep, inner prayer…his only hope.

_Dean…Dean will save me…_

_Please, Dean…_

_Help._

_I can't do this alone…_

His only answer was Gordon laughing, laughing, laughing.

* * *

-:-S-U-P-E-R-N-A-T-U-R-A-L-:-

To be continued…

_Of course, thoughts appreciated, helpful tips encouraged, suggestions, questions, etc…all welcome should you feel compelled to share your preserved entertainment or current dissatisfaction with the story thus far. And thanks to even all those who are just reading this, have added this to alerts and what not. I appreciate your silent support just as much. Also, if anyone would like to share whether they prefer longer or shorter chapters (or are indifferent) …I'm willing to listen. _

_Thanks for reading._

_Silver Kitten_


	3. Waning

**Grayscale**

**III**

Author's Note: There have been many misfortunes lately with this site properly functioning, but even though it wouldn't let me upload the chapter when I wanted to, it did give me time to re-write some parts. And God, I've been trying to upload this for ages it seems.

If I haven't gotten a personal thank you to you yet, you will get one soon. I didn't think bogging the site's system down any further would help as it is still slowly sending past due alerts.. But truly, thank you all so very much. You're making this whole writing thing worth the late nights, constant revisions, and general will to better my skills with each update. (Though, I won't put it past myself for a typo here and there) And thanks for the response to my question about chapter length; this is for you guys. And I am so sorry for the wait, even though for once it's not _entirely _my fault...heh heh.

* * *

-:-S-U-P-E-R-N-A-T-U-R-A-L-:-

Sam squinted through the sharp pain, moving himself against the wall, further from Gordon. His hands shook as he grappled to apply pressure to the new wound.

He thought he might be muttering curses and damning the day he ever met Gordon, but he wasn't for sure of anything but the pain.

"Here," Gordon said; his momentary bout of laughter fading. He tore a sheet that covered one of the machines, some kind of wood cutting tool, and tossed it over to Sam. "Wouldn't want you bleeding to death…too easy a way to die, for you."

Sam shuddered when the balled up sheet hit him in the chest and landed carefully into his lap. He waited for the unwelcome tears to clear from his vision, sniffled and tried to clam his breaths before picked it up. He rolled it out to its full length and began wrapping it around his ankle, above and over the heel of his foot. The slower he wrapped, the more it stung, so he went as quickly as he could and winced all the way through tying it off at the end.

He hazarded a glance upwards towards Gordon, who only looked down at him as if he were some pathetic, weak specimen.

"If you think I'm so…threatening…shouldn't you…be afraid of me?" Sam dared to ask. Any strength in his body was diminishing fast.

"Oh, no. See, we've been keeping an eye on you…and you haven't used any potential powers of yours to even help yourself one bit. Whatever abilities you're supposed to have…you haven't had the chance to learn how to tap into them yet. And I'll make sure that doesn't happen," Gordon finished with a dangerous grin.

"But…I'm not…"

"Shh," The older man hushed. "I really don't give a damn about your opinion on this. All I want to know…is what the Demon told you."

Sam shut his eyes tightly, leaning far into the wall, careless that the back of his head slammed back into it pretty harshly. Coldness began creeping throughout his body, chilling his bones and making his muscles feel tired, frozen, and stiff.

"All I know is…he has plans. I…I don't know what they are."

"Don't bullshit me. I hate bullshit," Gordon leaned down so he was eye level to Sam. Sam shrunk backwards, though he couldn't go much further into the wall. "You had…nightmares, was it? Soon turned into premonitions, right? So you want to tell me that Demon hasn't appeared in any of them? Hasn't whispered things to you in the darkness of the night? Hasn't…put thoughts into that mind of yours, of revenge, of murder, of death?"

Sam shivered, wrapped his arms around himself, ignoring the blood on them. He was beginning to feel smaller and smaller as Gordon stood back up.

"No," _Not exactly. _"He hasn't…I…I don't know. But…whatever is going to happen…I won't let it."

"If there's one thing about this hunting life you should know…it's that Demons lie. So you can deny this all you want. But you ain't foolin' me."

Something moved in the shadows catching both Gordon and Sam's attention. Slowly, the figure emerged into the light.

Sam felt almost stupid for having even the slightest audacity to believe it was Dean.

"Isaac…happy you could join us."

The other man seemed to ignore Gordon, marched straight over to Sam.

"You're dead," he said acerbically. Sam tried raising his hands above him to block Isaac's, but the other man grabbed a hold of the top of his hair, pulling him forward and shoving him on the ground a few good feet away from the wall. Sam was able to catch himself with his hands, but the force of the throw mingling with his aching muscles and bruised shoulder didn't give him much time before his face landed on the hard floor.

Sam attempted, pitifully, to lift himself up, but something hit his back and he convulsed with pain. His screaming mind was somehow able to register that it was the heel of Isaac's boot introducing itself roughly to the base of his spin.

He tried to take in oxygen, to slow the flooding cries he wanted to shout out from nearing his lips, but there was another sickening stomp and something pulled and stung and he just couldn't get enough air.

And there was another one, this time the entire base of the boot, this time higher towards the center of his back. Hot pain was smoldering in his stomach, his chest, as his back was kicked into the floor. Again and again. He reached his arms out, wanting to crawl away from the pain, to pull himself free from the agony. And maybe he would have budged a little if it weren't for him forgetting his left foot was now rendered useless.

Another scream tore out of him, but this time it was his own fault, and he tried to curl into himself as the kicking, the fiery pressure, finally yielded.

"You're pathetic," Isaac scoffed, catching his own breath as he shook with anger. He then directed his words to Gordon, practically smiling. "And I thought you said this would be difficult. Isn't that why you asked for my help, because you thought he was so dangerous?"

"Didn't know exactly what I was up against…couldn't be too careful. Demonic ties aren't so easy to predict."

Sam quietly lifted his face a little above the ground and spit something out. His saliva was reddened with blood, trickling from his lips to the cold ground. Every breath felt like it was cutting his chest and only seemed to fill his lungs with ice. He didn't even try to move his body. But he couldn't help but feel the smallest twinge of hope, of fearlessness, as a forth party could be heard making racket, across the long warehouse, in another section closed off.

Gordon and Isaac shared a look.

"I'll take care of it," Gordon said, suspicious and certain. He then went towards the light switch, shutting them off completely. Blackness returned in its entirety save for the filtered rays of moonlight that illuminated the cloudy sky above.

Sam wanted to think it was Dean. But Dean wouldn't make a noise. Dean wouldn't pronounce his entrance so recklessly, even if he was looking for Sam. But maybe it was someone else, someone who could help him.

A door was opened, just a splinter of light for a second and then it was shut.

Again, his hair was pulled, forcing his head up and revealing his neck to the open darkness. Something sharp edged its way across his throat.

"Say one word," Isaac whispered. "And I'll slit your throat. Don't think I won't."

Sam kept quiet, still. And Isaac kept the knife securely in place.

Muffled voices were heard at a near distance. Sam tried to listen, taking in bits and pieces. Some other guy…

"…_this place has been abandoned for some time…"_ and _"…shouldn't be here…"_

Maybe a cop?

And then Gordon's rough voice, smoothed out with lies.

"…_got a permit…"_ then later "…_fix this place up, after we clean up the mess…"_

Sam swallowed and felt the blade dig into his skin a little more.

There was more talking, more lies, and then there was shouting.

"…_put your hands behind your head…!"_

"…_don't make me do this…!"_

More shouts, echoing blindly into the dark. The sounds of scuffling, a struggle.

Then silence. A thick blanket of soundlessness, covering up the mess.

A few lights turned on.

A cell phone rang and Sam was released, the knife pulled away. Isaac answered it quickly.

"…Did you kill him?" He asked without much attachment to the question.

Sam could hear the smug answer from the loud receiver. _"Said I'd take care of it, didn't I? You handle Sam…I need to…clean this up."_

The phone snapped shut and Sam flinched.

"Well, mate," Isaac started with a hint of malice in his voice. "Looks like it's just you and me again."

-:-:-:-:-:-

Nighttime was fast approaching. The sun was halfway set and storm clouds were gathering still, taking over the sky with a bursting tyranny. Dean hadn't realized he was swerving on the road, or how fast he'd been going, until a hefty semi-truck was nearly drove into a ditch by him. The blaring of the horn snapped him back to awareness; he got into his lane and steadied himself on the road.

"Goddamnitfuckitall," Dean muttered hastily to no one while he tried collecting his nerves. He carelessly waved a _'my mistake, it's been a very bad day, leave me the hell alone'_ hand to the semi driver, who earnestly returned the gesture with one familiar finger.

The hunter gritted his teeth, and despite the near collision, once again neared the triple digits on the speedometer.

He was on his way to town called Wakefield where a rash of beheadings had spread within the last week, according to a tip from Ash whom Dean called back a few minutes after his chat with Ellen. The town itself was surprisingly close in vicinity, not even an hour away. Gordon had to be there, somewhere, since the latest victim was killed just the other night. And Sam had to be there.

And Sam had better be alive when he got there.

His phone went off ringing again, startling him. He veered to the side of the road as he struggled to answer it—a hope rising inside him that it might be Sam—and pieces of his heart crashed into the pit of his stomach when someone else's voice was on the other end.

"Dean, that you?"

"Yeah, Bobby…" Dean sighed, disheartened.

"Hey, been trying to call you all day. Phone lines had been down and my damn cell phone battery died. I had to tell you I heard the strangest thing today from a fellow hunter. Some guy gloating about one of the infamous Winchester kids being…connected to a demon?"

Dean slammed down against the brakes, they screeched and sparked and the engine rattled to a halt. He leapt out of the car, pacing back and forth, fuming and unable to speak.

"Dean?"

"Yeah, uh…who…who said that?"

"Guy named Isaac Miller, fairly decent hunter…usually sticks to werewolves as his main expertise. He came earlier this morning. Started rambling…didn't know to take him seriously or not. Even for someone who should know better about myths and fiction, he spins a lot of wild ideas from nothin'. But what's going on, Dean? Is Sam okay?"

Dean withdrew the phone away from his ear, bit his lips and stared off into the distance.

"…_but shortly after, when he left, man, he booked out of here with **some other guy**, lookin' real serious. I don't know what's goin' on."_

"_This guy, he have a name?"_

"—…_Walker. Gordon Walker."_

It wasn't just Gordon. There was someone else in the picture. And who knew how many others, now? He fought to keep his heart inside his chest and his head from exploding, and moved the phone back.

"Sam? Is he okay?" Bobby persisted.

"I…I don't know." Dean answered. The words were sharp as they fell from his lips and he glowered as they broke in the air around him like small explosions of a bitter truth. There was rustling on the other end of the line, as if Bobby moved the phone closer.

"What is it? He hurt?" Sincere concern.

"Someone took him." Completely stoic, his mind reeling.

"Took him? Do you know who, where?"

"No, I mean, I think so…I don't know how many are involved," Dean gulped down fear. "I just…I shouldn't have left him."

"Don't blame yourself. That won't get him back." Dean gripped the phone tighter as Bobby spoke. "Now, I don't know what's going on exactly…but if what Isaac said was true…"

"No! Fuck Isaac, fuck anyone who thinks they know a damn thing about _my_ family!" Dean shouted into the vast openness, slamming his fist on the roof of the impala.

"Dean, just calm down. I'll help you, okay?"

"Calm down?" Dean barked. "Oh, I'm calm," he added flippantly. "My brother was snatched by a bunch of bloodthirsty psychopaths who think they're 'helping', too. When I find them, Bobby…I won't need any help. What I'll need is an _alibi_ for where I was when two guys were found with every appendage on their body torn off."

There was silence on the other end, but Dean didn't care. He was furious. The bulk of his anger wasn't just from the fact hunters were hunting his brother, but because he failed to protect Sam when he perhaps needed him the most. He was mad at himself, mad at the world, and mad because—'_It's never gonna be over'_—and _'Time of death, 10:41 AM'_—and _'Doesn't seem like your brother's much like us. I'm not saying he's wrong. Just different.'_

Bobby let out quick exhale.

"All right Dean. Just tell me where you're headed. I'll meet you there. I'll help."

Help…that was a laugh. Seems like everyone wanted to help him, but they only made things worse, even if it was with good intentions. And trust…he wanted to trust Bobby, had always been able to trust Bobby…but if Bobby knew about Sam…there was immediate skepticism there now and trust was not broken but severely bent. Dean wasn't going to allow anymore possible threats chase after Sam, unlikely and naive as it was to think that Bobby would betray them. It wasn't the friend in Bobby Dean didn't trust. It was the hunter.

"Sorry, Bobby. I'll get him back on my own. Just don't believe everything you hear…especially from someone who spins a lot of wild ideas from nothing."

And Dean disconnected the call.

He got back into the car, dismissed the whole conversation, and revved the engine up. He returned his focus to the road ahead, not much farther to go now, and hoped to steer clear from semi trucks and ditches.

-:-:-:-:-:-

"So, I'm going to do you a favor," Isaac started. "You seem to think you're so innocent and harmless…then you can prove that by saving a whole lot of people. You can save us a whole lot of time. Tell us who the other chosen children are. Tell me what's going to happen."

If Sam wasn't so burning cold, so sore, he might think he'd roll his eyes and gag the next time he was asked what the plans were. He'd lash out because he truly didn't know, but he just lacked the energy.

"If you tell me every thing you know," The other man went on. "I'll make this a bit easier for you. All you have to do is tell me, so the others can be stopped. Because whatever those plans are…it means trouble for the good of this world. Now, as an alleged good guy, you wouldn't want something like to happen, would you?"

"…No…"

"So then, let's have it."

"If I knew," Sam said with lethargic annoyance. "I'd have told you already."

Isaac chuckled.

"It's funny you think this is a game. You think if you keep quiet, you, the others, the Demon…win. Maybe you don't understand well enough."

Sam slowly lifted his head off the ground, raised it just in time to see Isaac's leg swinging towards him. He didn't even have a chance to brace himself as the steel-toed boot made a swift impact with his rib cage. Sam was winded before a sound could escape him. The jabbing sensation in his side and abdomen was throbbing throughout his entire body.

But it wasn't just once. Isaac kicked again. And again. On the forth time, Sam heard something crack, felt something tear like bone into flesh. His synapses fired rapidly between pain _here_ and pain _there_, so quickly, so heatedly, that eventually it faded to a smoldering numbness.

"Do you remember?" Isaac huffed tiredly, but he wasn't without endurance as he raised his foot again and thrust it into the side of Sam's body. "I mean, turning to the Darkness…must start from some deep rooted need for revenge," Another kick and Sam whimpered while trying to control the burning inside his throat as he swallowed down what he was sure had been the remaining contents of his stomach. "Then, it grows into an insatiable rage…a taste for blood, for death. And soon enough you wouldn't be able to stop killing, because that's who you were born to be. A killer."

The pain in his side, his ribs, seemed to be expanding, and he couldn't take another kick, couldn't take anymore pain. He tried as best he could to raise himself higher, to move away from Isaac's reach, to lift an arm to block him. But Isaac was too quick, too precise, and Sam couldn't get away.

The next kick was something of untamed energy, intensified to one specific point and aimed directly for Sam's sternum. The motion flipped him onto his back where he crossed his arms over his chest. And this time, he could not suppress the urge to vomit, leaning his head on its side. It was something milky with traces of crimson, and he tasted salt as tears had squeezed out from his tightly shut eyes.

Isaac didn't allow Sam time to catch his breath before grabbing his shirt and pulling him up with one hand. Sam struggled to keep up with the momentum, and before he knew it Isaac had him nearly standing on both feet. But the instant his left foot contacted the ground, another shooting pain cross-fired up his body, stripping the numbness away to a constant, crippling pulsation. Sam went to yell out, but his scream came out stringy and hoarse, broken. And he was thrust against the wall, something in his back snapping, his shoulders buckling together.

He fought to keep his balance, even against the wall, but it seemed Isaac wasn't letting him go anywhere anyways. His natural instinct was to fight to get the other man off him, and he tried…but the weakness in his beaten body didn't provide much aid. In fact, his meek attempts at breaking free only made Isaac laugh.

"I'm not…I'm not a killer…" Sam forced out, placing his hands over Isaac's strong arms, making a pitiful try at prying them away.

"You don't sound so sure about that. Something tells me you could kill me right now if you had the chance."

"You think I'm something I'm not…I…I don't want to kill you. I want you to believe me," Sam reasoned, but there was no sympathy from Isaac.

"You're a clever one, aren't you? Trying to weasel your way free with words and lies. Trying to make me feel sorry for you? Even for Demon spawn you're still pitiful. Clever. But pitiful. It's not working on me."

"Please, don't—"

Rough hands found their way around Sam's neck, cutting off air quickly and stopping words shortly as they escaped in one rushed exhale. Sam felt himself slide upwards, his back still against the wall, Isaac's hands around his neck raising him up. Sam would have kicked to find his way back to the ground, to something with foundation, but he'd been dizzy for a long while and couldn't differentiate solidity from air. All he knew was that he couldn't breathe.

"I'm just gonna put you out of your misery now. Should have known we wouldn't any answers from you," Isaac said, his voice as jagged as sandpaper. Sam made one small flinch, tried to get air in his lungs but could only manage a choking inhale. He gripped Isaac's wrists.

"You know, Sam? It's a shame…you had a family once. Seems like it's true, those we love are the ones we hurt the most…and look what you've done to them," Isaac continued to berate him. Sam hated the conceivable truth behind the words. Everything that's happened has been his fault, ultimately…and they're the ones who have paid the price.

_Mom, Dad, Jessica…Dean…oh, God, Dean…_

"If it weren't for you…maybe your mother would still be here. She died in the fire, right? The one the Demon started, all because of you?"

Sam heard himself screaming inside his head.

And shadows crept in from the edges of his sight, surrounding him in cold, lacking sensation, no will to move. He could feel his pulse anxiously thumping in his body. He could feel every cell inside him attacking the surface, looking for air, looking for movement. He felt the flow of blood slowing down to a desolate trudge within his veins. Everything was slowing down. He was slipping into darkness. He had to shut his eyes because it required too much energy to keep them open.

He tried escaping Isaac's voice, but just could not.

"But you don't need to worry about hurting anyone else. There's no one left to hurt, now. Your brother isn't here. He doesn't care, and why would he- for someone like you?" Isaac asked. Sam slipped farther. Losing grip. "No, I don't think Dean will save you now." And Sam was falling away, and right before the world disappeared into a suffocating madness, just has his body wretched and contorted in one last attempt to live…

"Think again, asshole."

It had to be Dean.

No one else had that voice that sent shivers but made you feel warm. No one else had that consistency to his words, where so few could pose so much threat. No one else had that perfect timing, if not teetering somewhere between _too late_ and _where the hell have you been?_

No one but Dean. And so Sam clung onto the waning victory in the fight for his life but for one solitary purpose—and that was for no one but his brother.

And Sam couldn't see in his darkness, couldn't open his eyes, but he could tell the hands released him and he'd fallen to the ground, on his side, limp and immobile except for how coughs shook his body. He could tell the blood was flowing faster, trying to catch up to his swirling thoughts. He took solace in the rush of air that he sucked in, relishing in the sweet sensation of life.

When finally he opened his eyes, caught his breath and regained enough mental stamina to entertain coherency, he saw his brother there.

Dean had launched himself onto Isaac, pulled him to the ground with the force of the tackle, and now he had his knees on either side of the new victim. One, two, three, four, five times he struck his fist to the side of Isaac's head. Back and forth, jaw breaking, neck nearly unhinged.

And Sam watched in relieved horror and astonishment as Dean went at him so viciously. It seemed so deserved on the surface, but still Sam couldn't help but think…Isaac was a hunter. He only thought he was doing the right thing…if only he had listened.

Dean paused for a moment, staring at the mesh of torn skin and blood on Isaac's face. Isaac groaned, looking for a way out but finding none.

Something caught Dean's attention then, just a couple feet away from where they were. It was a pool of blood, dark red and freshly staining the cement. Part of it spread out, could be traced towards the wall where Sam lay. And when Dean saw the blood, he got a taste for it himself, glaring back at Isaac whom Sam was fairly certain had let out what could have been a cry if it weren't for another fist flying into his already broken jaw.

"Son of a bitch! What the hell did you do to him?" Dean growled out. He then stood up, removed the gun he had in the waistband of his jeans and aimed it towards Isaac. "I ought to kill you right now."

Isaac gurgled, placing his hands in the air above him defensively, terrified. Dean held no remorse as he cocked the gun and tightened his grip on the trigger. But then in the corner of his eye, he saw Sam, watching his every move. He blinked back tears, wondering what was going to happen, afraid of the consequences if Dean pulled the trigger.

Dean knew how concerned Sam was, he could feel it surrounding him. _That pain in the ass…_

The older Winchester lowered his weapon slowly. He decided he wouldn't kill him, but he wasn't going to take any chances. Using the handle of the gun, he swiped it hard across Isaac's head, knocking him out instantly. And then he ran over to Sam.

"Sammy?" he breathed out, landing hard on his knees beside his brother but not caring. Sam smiled for the first time in what felt like an eternity.

"Wasn't sure…if you'd make it…in time."

Now Dean smiled, but only briefly before he could really assess the damage inflicted upon his brother. He saw all the blood, the bruises forming. He saw how Sam could barely move. It made him sick, really.

"God, what have they done to you…"

Sam grimaced when Dean placed his hand lightly on his shoulder but he did not pull away from the comfort it provided, even through the pain. He welcomed it.

"Can we just get out of here?" Sam's voice was small, low, pleading. Dean refocused himself on the entire situation.

"Yeah, here, can you walk?" Dean said, offering his hands out for Sam to grab. But Sam just shook his head.

"Can't very well…he cut…the tendon," Sam mumbled out, the sudden memory striking him vividly.

"Achilles'? Sam…I'm going to kill him."

Sam's eyes widened, causing Dean to tense up and turn around. As he did, he locked eyes with Gordon, with the barrel of a .45 pointed directly at him.

"Oh, are you?"

Dean warily stood up, moving himself directly in front of Sam and not taking his eyes off Gordon.

"You disgusting prick. I should—"

"I'm not the one with a gun pointed at my head right now. So if I were you, I'd be careful of what I say."

Dean clenched his fists together, taking a hesitant step forward and only stopping himself when he realized he couldn't leave Sam to fend for himself, not anymore. He strengthened his stance in front of Sam.

"Drop your gun, slide it over here."

Dean obeyed but not without attitude as he dropped the gun and kicked it harder than necessary, watching with small triumph as it flew by Gordon's feet somewhere into the shadows. The other man said nothing, and though his eyes followed the discarded weapon for a moment, he was quick to turn his attention back to the Winchesters.

"I think it's time we had another chat, don't you?" Gordon asked, smiling at Dean.

"Alright, fine. Let me get Sam out of here, to a hospital. Safe. Then you and I can talk about this."

"Your brother isn't going anywhere. And neither are you."

"He isn't who you want. Let him go."

Gordon shook the gun in his hands, flaunting his power and laughing dryly.

"See this? Means I give the orders around here. Now, put these on," Gordon instructed, pulling out a set of handcuffs and tossing them to Dean.

Dean caught them and shot Gordon a look.

"Sorry, I'm allergic to sadistic kink," he said smoothly. Gordon smiled snidely and then lowered the gun in Sam's direction. Dean froze, a distinguishable wave of fear passing over his features. "Okay, okay…just…ease up with that thing," he finished, then slid one cuff around his wrist and closed it briskly. He moved to his other hand when Gordon stopped him.

"Behind your back."

Dean inwardly rolled his eyes, moved his arms behind his back and maneuvered the handcuffs along with him. They clicked shut, Gordon taking pleasure in every notch that tightened.

"Happy?" Dean asked blandly. Gordon kept his gun steady but walked towards him, grabbing his shirt and pulling him away from Sam.

"Almost."

He shoved Dean down backwards into one of the conveyer belts. Dean landed hard against the long machine, felt something twist in his back, and he slumped over on the ground, no hands available to help prop him up.

Once he caught his breath, Gordon sat him up straight on the ground and grabbed the handcuffs and pulled them back. He heard another click, metal fastening with metal and chains interlocking. Gordon locked another set of handcuffs around one of the steel beams that supported the conveyer belt, leaving Dean doubly detained.

"That's better."

Dean muttered something nearly inaudible and Gordon knelt beside him.

"You know, Dean? I had it all figured out. I knew all these things I was going to do to you, to get back to you, for leaving me tied up like that. For stopping me from doing my job. I had my revenge planned out, and oh, it was sweet," Gordon said. He appeared to be swept away in thought, smiling at his own, twisted ideas. But then he returned to a more stoic nature and stared piercingly into Dean. "But, I've been paying attention to the details. I've heard how others have spoken about you, your family. I've seen myself how fiercely defensive you are for them."

"What's your point?" Dean snapped, rattling the cuffs behind him uselessly.

"I was going to make you beg for your life, once I found you. But the along the way I discovered a little known truth about Sammy boy over there, and I had a change of plans. It didn't take long for me to accept the fact that you—Dean Winchester—would never surrender yourself in a fight, especially for what you believe in. And that's when it hit me," Gordon kept his voice low, as if revealing a secret. He watched as Gordon lifted the gun and slowly turned away from him, predatorily walking towards Sam.

"Gordon," Dean started, a warning threat behind his voice. But the other hunter continued, stalking towards the younger Winchester. With each step Gordon took, Dean's heart sped up, faster and faster, and he thought it might explode.

Gordon spoke again and his words spun around Dean and tightened like a noose. "I can't make you beg for _your_ life, but I _can_ make you beg for _his_."

-:-S-U-P-E-R-N-A-T-U-R-A-L-:-

To be continued…

* * *

_Things are getting pretty deep now, huh? Still a bit deeper to go, I'm afraid. Anyways, I'm very curious about this chapter. I hope it was interesting for you. Thanks so much to everyone for their feedback and support. Also, to address a few things people have asked me—(possible, very small, slight mention of a spoiler below)_

_Yes, I have become aware that there is a future episode involving Gordon coming after Sam- I think. I am excited beyond words for it (!), however, I feel it important to state that I have given up spoilers (been spoiler free since…2.05, lol). Therefore, I know nothing of what's to come with Gordon's character on the show, and anything that happens in this story is a result of my own ponderings and ideas gathered from nothing other than speculation. _

_Also, the whole "Achilles" deal was something I wanted to do before I even remembered it happened to Jared's character in House of Wax. Poor guy. But I figure, what the heck. I'll do it again. _


	4. Half a Heartbeat

**Grayscale**

**IV**

Author's Notes: Oh my GOD, I'm **_SO_** sorry you guys! Honestly, I did _not_ intend to start a story and have it go such a long time between updates (I was supposed to be over that phase of my life). My gazillion apologies just won't make up for the wait, I know, but I am certainly very sorry. I could tell you a bunch of reasons why I haven't updated, but they'll all come off as whiney excuses, and I don't like excuses…so I'll leave it at 'I'm sorry' and beg a thousand times over for your forgiveness.

Aside from that, wow, gosh, thanks so, so, so, SO, so much to everyone who kept asking me for an update, well past the last time I posted (which was forever ago…). Especially to **jjlover82**, **mariazinha**, **bubblesquirt** and **Ash8** for really getting me going. But _everyone's_ kind reviews and encouraging response has been so very helpful, and I seriously can't thank everyone enough. Of course, if there's anything I can do to make up for the wait, let me know…

More Notes Most People Aren't Reading (lol): Um, also, because of excu…uh, reasons, I had kind of hurried the first half of this chapter up, attempting desperately to find my groove again with this story. I'm pretty sure I got it back…I hope. We'll see. **Also, please keep in mind**, if I _were_ writing a deathfic, I would allow proper warning to ensue prior to beginning the story. Yes, just…trust me on that when you finish this chapter.

* * *

-:-S-U-P-E-R-N-A-T-U-R-A-L-:-

"I can't make you beg for your life, but I can make you beg for his…"

"Don't you touch him," Dean cautioned, pulling against the cuffs that bound his arms behind his back. And Gordon ignored him, if not indulging himself in the helplessness of Dean's voice.

He lifted his foot and slammed it hard into Sam's abdomen, sending his upper body forward from the inward push. Sam let out a strangled yell before Gordon kicked again.

"Stop it!" Dean gasped, leaning forward so much that he nearly dislocated his shoulder.

"Why?" Gordon faced him a brief moment. "Sam's evil, you know. We hunt evil. We stop evil. We kill evil. It's what we do," he grinned. "Or have you forgotten that?"

"He's not evil!"

"Oh, I beg to differ. I know all about little Sammy. Ellen didn't want to talk too much, but fear does something to a _mother_ that makes secrets seem like artificial promises not to share. What I don't know is why you're so willing to let him walk free, knowing what he is."

"So, okay, you have this big idea he's demon spawn. Fine. He's still breathing," _thank God._ "Why haven't you just killed him? Why torture him?"

"Ah," Gordon nodded casually. "Torturing is fun. I like to think of it as kind of an incentive for all my hard work—seeing son's of bitches like Sam here suffering. A lot of times I have to go for the kill so quickly I hardly enjoy it. You know maybe he hasn't done all that wrong by you yet…but what his future holds…whatever his future holds…it has to do with the demon that killed your mother. He's going to turn, Dean. He'll turn against you."

Sam half-attempted to raise his head, to speak, but could only utter out a ragged breath. Gordon's eyes snapped back to him, and again he kicked but this time it was higher. If Sam had been coherent enough to guess, he'd think he was feeling what it must be like when your diaphragm implodes. He hacked and coughed, trying to catch enough air in his lungs, slowly becoming oblivious to his surroundings. But he heard Dean yelling clearly, heard him struggling against his own restraints, and his voice was the only thing that kept Sam from giving into the growing urge to sleep. But fading into the background was so much easier than facing the pain, so he let his brother do the talking.

"Look at him!" Dean commanded. "If he's so evil, why hasn't he done anything to defend himself? Why hasn't he…called up his demon buddies to kick your ass?" he continued breathlessly. "Because he can't! It's not who he is."

"Are you really that blind? Look, he's your brother, your blood. I get that. But you have to think logically about this. You think it was that easy for me to kill my sister?"

"Yes," Dean puffed, turning his head to his side as if it disgusted him to look at Gordon.

"I didn't say it wasn't easy…but it wasn't _that_ easy. It only took me one second to see her fangs…those fangs told me more about my sister than I ever knew about her. She wasn't my sister anymore. And if I just let her live…Do you know how many people would be dead now, because of her? If Sam lives, do you want to think of how many people will die?"

"Did she attack you?" Dean asked, still looking away.

"What?"

"Your sister…did she attack you?"

Gordon felt his fists tightening, found it hard to keep his eyes focused on Dean.

"What's it matter if she did or not? I got to her before she got to me."

"So…she didn't attack you."

"What's your point? I'm alive and she's not. End of story."

"Oh, I don't think so," Dean sneered, moving his gaze back to meet Gordon's. "Seems to me you didn't even give her a chance. She might have been different, but she was still your sister…and you killed her without giving her the benefit of the doubt. I bet you wish you hadn't. I bet you anything you wish you let her live…see if there was another way to help her, than to just give up on her like that."

"You don't know the first thing about it."

"I think you miss her, don't you Gordon? You think about her every day, how you royally screwed up when you capped her."

"Shut up!" Gordon demanded and any carefree attitude he'd managed to keep quickly vanished. The cool, frigid calmness in his eyes disappeared and now burned a fiery, furious almost red. "I did what had to be done! And I'd do it again. I couldn't have helped her. She couldn't have helped herself." His fists quavered now.

"You were scared…" Dean said in something hardly a whisper, trying to convince himself as much as he was Gordon. Watching the other man flinch from the words caused him to speak up. "You're scared maybe the world is more grayscale than you choose to see. And that makes you wrong. It makes you the bad guy."

"I'm not the bad guy here," Gordon said, as if it were his mantra, something he needed to hear that allowed everything he stood for to be true. "You can think what you want to think…but I know what I'm doing. And neither of you are talking about this big secret…so maybe Sam doesn't know the demon's plans. But I will say this…I'm not letting him out of here so we can all find out later on."

When Gordon lifted his gun and put it to Sam's temple, it became apparent to Dean that exploiting Gordon's last nerve and crushing it wasn't going to hinder his motives to destroy Sam, and ultimately kill everything Dean lived for. Dean thought of the knife tucked away in his back pocket, though there was no way he could get to it, no way he could use it. All he had were words and it wasn't enough.

"Don't—"

"Dean, I knew the kind of man your father was. I know the kind of hunter he raised you to be—strong, fierce, powerful. He didn't raise you to be weak, to keep Sam attached to your hip for the rest of your life. He didn't raise you to question evil and seek motives for it, which wastes time, gives the bad guys a chance to escape, to keep on killing. Think of John and what he'd do right now."

"He wouldn't do anything to Sam, not ever."

"Aw, Dean…you really believe that? Now how can you know that for sure…seeing as how…oh…he's dead."

Gordon couldn't help the small trembling that ran through him as Dean nearly growled and his chains rattled behind him while he jerked forward.

"I'm going to kill you," Dean said matter-of-factly.

"No, I don't think you will. See, once I pull this trigger, you'll feel like the heaviest weight has been lifted off your shoulders. You'll understand Sam's death is for the greater good, for everyone. And you'll think twice about where you stand. Because right now you're just one soldier, and you're up against an entire army who see things differently, who see things for what they are at their core…no grayscale bullshit."

"I think you're the one who's confused. Right now, I think you're no better than the things you hunt. Twisted, demented, just plain ill."

"You know, I've really had it with your negative opinion about me. Kinda hurts my feelings. So you want to join Sam here in his grave? You need to make a choice, Dean. You're either on our side, or theirs. Good…or evil. Which side are you on?"

Dean looked at Sam, and for a flickering moment of coherency, Sam was able to glance up at Dean. It was in that moment that needed no words, no second thoughts, for Dean to know his answer.

"Which side are you on, Dean?" Gordon asked again, firmer, and pressed the gun closer to Sam's head. "Which side!"

"My brother's!" Dean said fervently, his eyes locked on Sam. He felt a bittersweet pang beat in his chest, because oh, how the truth could hurt. "I'm on my brother's side…no matter what."

If it was the fate of the world or the fate of Sam…well, there was no hesitation on which Dean would save first.

"Well then…seems to me John would be disappointed in you. If this is what you choose," Gordon said sardonically, nudging the gun barrel against Sam's head, jolting him. "Your funeral."

Dean heard the gun cock, and time flashed like lightning behind his eyes, blinding him to the point of paralysis. He was constrained, helpless, and unable to knock the gun away, to stop Gordon from pulling the trigger. Sam was going to die right in front of him, and there was nothing he could do to save him.

He saw was the smug grin on Gordon's face. For a moment, then, it was only Sam there, suspended somewhere unreachable with the threat of death looming closer than Dean appreciated. He was almost thankful that Sam had his head bowed down, eyes cast away from Dean's, though Dean could still envision the torment swirling about those puppy-dog orbs his brother possessed.

And then he thought of John.

"…_I want you to watch out for Sammy…"_

It was the last order given to him, the first assignment he had as a big brother, the only job he cared about, and the most important thing he'd ever do in this world.

"…_I want you to watch out for Sammy…"_

"…_You wouldn't even blink…"_

"…_The things I'm willing to do…"_

"…_I want you to watch out for Sammy…"_

"…_Yeah, Dad, you know I will…"_

_Whatever it takes._

Dean's heart raced, his veins trembled with an erratic pulse as blood coursed through him angrily, determined. This was it, his only chance, and he couldn't screw it up.

He tried not to yell, tried not to allow the glass shattering scream erupt from his throat as his arm muscles contorted, stretched, ripped forward. He gritted his teeth and continued to pull, fighting the throbbing resistance behind him as his left hand twisted and pinched into the metal of the handcuffs. He ignored the pain and the sharp snap in his wrist, ignored the cringing tingle that crawled over his entire body when the bone in his thumb cracked and popped.

In half a second, his left hand tore free from the cuffs, relinquishing use of his right arm which he took no hesitation in reaching for the switchblade tucked away behind him. In less than half a heartbeat, he swung out in one fluid motion of solidified rage and animalistic precision. The blade flew out from his hands, tunneling through the air in a swift motion, and before anyone could blink, it met its target.

Gordon dropped the gun instantly, both hands maneuvering dizzily up towards his chest where the knife flew in, pounding into his flesh, grinding against bone. He took two steps backwards, staring at Dean, almost impressed and in shock.

Once Dean remembered how to breathe, could see his surroundings clearly after being blinded by the blurring fury that took him over, he carefully stood up and paid no attention to his broken hand. He walked tiredly, but with confidence, over to Gordon who was slowly starting to slump forward. It seemed he was trying his best not to fall, just kept one hand steady on the handle of the blade, maybe testing the thought of pulling it out himself.

Gordon held his ground, arrogantly smiling through blood-stained teeth, as Dean made his way up to him and stood just inches away.

His voice rasped and cut in his throat.

"I told you…you're a killer…like me."

Something harsh glinted in Dean's eyes. He glanced down over to Sam and a new wave of anger hit every nerve in his body as he recalled what the man in front of him put his brother through. He brought his gaze back up to Gordon.

"No, I'm _not_ like you, Gordy," Dean started, providing his best and most charming smile. "Because in ten seconds, I'll still be breathing."

The arrogance washed away from Gordon's face, and suddenly Dean's hand was over his, twisting the blade in his chest. Blood spilled down his lips and lost words curdled somewhere over his tongue. He gave one last attempt at half a smile, a kind of knowing smile that Dean couldn't quite understand and didn't care to at the moment. Then Gordon shut his eyes. Dean pulled the blade out slowly, jaggedly, and watched as Gordon fell to the ground and convulsed a moment. One last breath escaped him before he stopped moving altogether.

Dean dropped the knife and gripped his hand, letting out a long and heavy sigh.

"It's over, Sammy," he said with dramatic relief, lowering his shoulders to ease up the tense muscles in his neck. He turned around and kneeled beside his brother about to give him a quick once-over before figuring out the easiest way to get him back to the impala and to a hospital, but then he noticed Sam's head was still facedown. He wasn't moving. "Sammy?" Dean tried again, this time lifting Sam's chin.

No sound of response was emitted from Sam, his eyes closed, and a frightening chill ran down Dean's spine when he realized his brother wasn't breathing. A quick second passed as he frantically paid notice to all the blood around them. Sam's blood. And the pallor of his skin was so unnatural. And God, he should be breathing.

"Sam!" Dean yelled, and he forgot about the intense pain in his left hand as tried to move Sam down to his back. He scurried closer and situated himself quickly, put both hands one over the other atop Sam's chest and began compressions. After the first compression Dean winced back, feeling the tenderness in his hand swell with a blistering pain. He bit back a small cry and went to try again, but there wasn't enough strength he could muster to put enough pressure.

Dean struggled to try different angles with his hand so he could do compressions without it hurting so much, but found no simple solution.

There was so much blood. It was everywhere. Dean's body began to shake and tremble, thinking of all the blood loss his brother has suffered. This wasn't something he could fix on his own. This wasn't a first-aid kit and a bandage ordeal. He watched water droplets fall on Sam's forehead while he hovered over him. It took him a moment to admit it wasn't just drops of water, but tears.

The plan had been simple…get in, stop Gordon, save Sam. This wasn't how it was supposed to go down. It was unacceptable. Dean took Sam by the shoulders as best he could and shook him.

"Sam, breathe!" He yelled. His voice carried into the lonely darkness. It was so still, everything around him so unmoving, so stuck in some frozen, dark hell.

He was ready to break down, to cave inward, and just let go of every emotion he ever locked away. He was ready to give up because he didn't know what to do, and _I can't do this alone_. He was ready to end it all, since everything worth hanging around for was lifeless in his arms. He was ready…until he saw a ribbon of red and blue light dance on the ceiling, flashing back and forth.

And when he really listened, he could hear the faint chorus of sirens. He heard voices yelling, doors opening, and lights turning on, flickering above and illuminating the entire gory scene around him. He dared to call for help, afraid to hope for some kind of miracle.

Then, in a very hazy motion, Dean saw people flooding into the room. Footsteps echoed, clattering against the concrete. He watched silently, disbelievingly, as an EMT knelt down on the other side of Sam. He thought it might be a figment of his imagination. Everything was happening so fast.

The man's eyes were young and gentle, reminding Dean somewhat of Sam, which only piqued his interest to stare, half mesmerized as though this was some kind of hallucination. The man was talking but Dean could barely hear above the noise. People scattering about the scene, shouting things, asking questions he had no mind to answer. And his head throbbed.

All he could do was say 'Save Sam, save Sam' but he wasn't sure if the people knew what he was saying or if they could even hear him. It was then he realized how dark it was getting, how tired he'd become all of a sudden and how much harder it was to keep his eyes open. But he was able to keep a tight grip on Sam, even when the man and one of his friends came over and tried to pry him away.

Dean just held on.

"Save Sam…save him…"

And he couldn't let go.

A woman and another guy came up behind him, tried to pull him back gently, whispering things like 'It'll be okay, we're here to help' but he was so afraid to trust them. Because maybe it was some kind of trap. Because what if they knew about Sam…what if they knew the secret…what if they would kill Sam once he let go? And then he remembered…Sam may already be dead.

But still, he couldn't let go.

Then, all the chaos in the room quieted, and people were moving around soundlessly. When he witnessed everyone around him moving their mouths with no sound, no voice, he shut his eyes. And there was one soft voice, eerily calming, that came to him clearly.

It said "Sleep…everything will be okay now…Sleep."

"Save…Sam…please…" Dean pleaded inside his head, unable to hear even his own voice. He was disoriented, clinging onto his brother.

"_Sleep,"_ the voice spoke firmly. It was a commandment. And his mind and body had no choice but to obey, and so he fell into the forthcoming darkness of sleep.

-:-S-U-P-E-R-N-A-T-U-R-A-L-:-

To be continued…

* * *

_I plan on letting the end of this chapter make sense the beginning of next. I have my reasons for things…_

_My goal is to have this story finished BEFORE Hunted airs this Thursday night. I hope I can reach that goal, lol. I've finally got my inspiration back, so that should help…I don't know, a LOT. _

_Thanks to everyone for reading. And please remember what I mentioned before this chapter about my fair warning system…mm-kay? _

_Silver Kitten_


	5. Till the End

**Grayscale**

**V**

Author's Note: I owe you all BIG time. All your lovely comments really helped me get this out. I'm cutting it extremely close to my goal, lol, since Hunted airs in less than 10 minutes. **_Thanks to everyone!_** I love you guys. It's true. I'll have several PM's to send you guys, hehe. So here's the conclusion, I hope you enjoy it.

* * *

-:-S-U-P-E-R-N-A-T-U-R-A-L-:-

Dean woke abruptly, almost painfully, with a familiar, harsh emptiness growing in the pit of his stomach.

_Something's wrong._

His eyes glued to the ceiling with beads of sweat latching onto his skin, breaths heavy and uneven, body rigid as if waking from a nightmare and unable to escape its vague but unforgettable realm of quiet despair.

He sat up in his bed, slowly becoming aware he was in a hospital. Judging by the way his left hand and wrist hurt, the lack of morphine drew him back to consciousness. He was increasingly panicked when he didn't see Sam there, anywhere, though he wasn't alone. An average sized figure stood at the only window in the room across from him, the silhouette of a man all he could discern from the spectacle given the blaring sunlight striking through the shades.

The man seemed startled by Dean's sudden, acute notice of him, but he didn't turn around, only shuffled in his stance a moment and stared straight ahead.

A moment passed. Dean had been too wary to say anything, for the multitude of questions all came at once and seemingly dislocated his tongue. He held onto his throbbing wrist half covered by bandages and a splint, studying the cast around it blindly while waiting for the man to speak or move. When he did speak, Dean was startled by the quavering youngness in his voice, trying so hard to sound firm.

"They had to realign the bones in your thumb. Your wrist is sprained badly, but it should heal just fine. You'll need some physical therapy all together, and it'll take time…but your hand will be usable again. You were lucky not to have severed anything."

"…Are you my doctor?" Dean asked, perplexed by the man's mysterious nature. "Do you know about my brother, Sam? Is he…did he, I mean…"

"…Not your doctor, sorry," he answered with a dry, short laugh. "But Sam…he's in surgery right now. They resuscitated him back at the warehouse."

"Thank God," Dean mused, throwing his head back and closing his eyes. He took in a deep breath and then returned his attention back to the guy at the window.

"His doctor will be in here after the surgery, I was told. They suspected you'd be awake by then…"

"Great…so, if you don't mind, maybe you could tell me who you are?"

The young man turned around and took a few steps forward. The mask of shadows once hiding him diminished into light and revealed him.

Dean's eyes widened. "…Andy?"

"Yeah," he laughed awkwardly, scratching his head. "I'm kind of surprised to be here myself, if that helps any."

Dean favored him with a half smile.

"What are you doing here? And please don't tell me you have another long lost sibling following you around…"

"No worries there, at least that I know of. But, um, well…_this_ does kind of have to do with _that_," Andy hinted.

"Thanks for the specifics."

"Uh, first I just want to say sorry for the…making you go to sleep deal. I didn't know what else to do."

"Wait a sec," Dean's voice rose. "That was you? That weird voice I heard?"

"What do you mean _weird_?"

Dean shot him a quizzical _you've got to be kidding me_ look. Andy resigned from his defensive antics. He laughed nervously before calming down to a more serious tone.

"You were kind of losing it, and…it helped you cooperate better when you were unconscious while the medics tried helping Sam." Andy explained with a quiet sympathy. Dean forced a cough and pursed his lips.

"Huh, so, about that….Want to tell me what you were doing there to begin with?" He quickly propelled the conversation forward, not wanting to dwell on the last conscious moments he had with his brother.

"This is going to sound crazy."

Dean lifted his good hand in the air and shrugged. "I haven't been surprised yet. Try me."

"Well, I…think I had a vision," Andy shuddered at his own admittance. "I saw what was happening, to Sam, to you…I freaked, man."

"A vision? I thought you had that nifty mind control power, not visions."

"That's what I thought!" Andy said, remarking his own surprise to the fact. "But it's only happened this once. I thought I was just getting a massive headache…until I saw these flashes of you guys, this motel, the warehouse, all this blood and…"

"And?" Dean coaxed, thinking there was something Andy wasn't saying.

"I just knew I had to do something. I remembered seeing some 'Welcome to Wakefield' sign, I thought. So I got in van and headed out, used what information I could gather, contacted the authorities."

"So you're the reason the cops and ambulance got there just before…"

"…Yeah. Guess so."

Dean was quiet as he swallowed a knot in his throat. Andy looked bashful, confused, standing there at Dean's bedside like he was afraid to make eye contact. Dean didn't know why. He tried figuring it out, this hesitation, this fear in Andy.

"I suppose you think I'm even more of a freak than I was."

"What?" Dean was drawn from his inner questioning and cocked an eyebrow.

"First I have this strange ability to make people do whatever I want, and then add having visions on top of that? I don't know who I am anymore or what's going on. I just…why me, you know? Why Sam? Why any of us…" Andy spoke almost tearfully.

"Hey, hey," Dean warned, coddling his hand while he sat up straighter in his bed. "I don't know why, but I do know that because of you…Sam's alive right now. You saved us. If you didn't get help to us, who knows what would have happened. Every second was crucial and you did something, okay? You did something good."

"It's not such a gift. I've lost a lot of people because of it…I feel…cursed," Andy finished, his eyes downcast and doleful. It reminded Dean so much of Sam, that silent desperation for understanding, to know all the why's.

"I'm pretty sure Sam feels the same way. But whatever it is that's happening to you…you're using it for betterment now, not abusing it. You're taking something bad and turning it into a good thing. You should be proud of that, Andy," Dean said resolutely, then flashed a wry smile. "Now look what you've done. Turned me into Dr. Phil or something…only I'm better looking."

At that, Andy laughed without holding it in.

"Sam's really lucky to have you. The relationship you guys have is so strong…it makes me feel like I kind of wish I could have gotten to know my brother…uh, before all the crazy killing started."

There was something about the statement that hitched in Dean's chest, a dull aching sorrow for Andy, for all his losses and how he's gone through them so alone.

He started to think about his life and what it would have been like without Sam, if things were different. He couldn't imagine never knowing Sam, never running him away from the fire or pulling him out of the fire. He couldn't possibly fathom not having him to look after, to keep him occupied from his own fears of the darkness the world could possess. He didn't want to think about Sam not being there for him when their mother was taken, or through the years thereafter, or when their dad so suddenly perished. Sam kept Dean grounded, he kept him level. For all his foundation to be a mirage, to be obsolete…it made Dean's head spin.

"You're a good guy. Just…don't change that, and you'll be okay. You're not going through this by yourself, all right?"

Andy looked expectantly at Dean.

"I'm not even sure what _this_ is, but…thanks. Really, thank you."

A knock at the door brought their attention to the doorway where a doctor stood. He was tall with short dark hair and bright blue eyes. He greeted the two of them pleasantly and stepped inside. Andy glanced at Dean and nodded to the doorway, signaling that he'd wait out in the hall. He made his way out of the room and Dean took notice of the friendly energy the doctor had.

"Good morning, Dean. How's that hand of yours?" the doctor asked cordially. Dean became apprehensive.

"How's my brother?" he asked hurriedly, ignoring the question. The doctor nodded with understanding at Dean's concern.

"Still in surgery, I'm afraid. I'm Dr. Howser, by the way."

"Dr. Howser…any relation to Doogie?"

Dr. Howser laughed as though he hadn't heard that one before and offered a grin.

"Your hand did suffer some minor fractures when it was, I'm assuming, you pulled it from the handcuffs. Then it appears you had fainted shortly after, the adrenaline wearing off—"

"Hold on, fainted? I didn't faint."

"Well it didn't seem you suffered much, if any, head trauma."

"Yeah, but I didn't faint. Girls faint. Not me."

"Right, my apologies. You underwent the absence of consciousness, is that better?"

Dean raised his eyebrows. It wasn't often doctors were very encouraging of his typical blunt, somewhat audacious approach to talking to them. He shared half a quick smile and sighed.

"I'm fine. You seemed to have fixed my hand pretty well, Doc, but honestly I couldn't care less. I just want to know about my brother."

Dr. Howser's grin faded, putting Dean on edge.

"Well, I'm not his doctor but I was able to glance at his charts. He suffered a lot of blood loss, Dean. He also had some internal hemorrhaging, but his doctors took care of it. He has four broken ribs, a fracture to his clavicle, and the tissue around his sternum is bruised. They were working on his Achilles tendon last I knew."

"Will he be able to walk, still?"

"I can't answer that, we'll have to see what the operating doctor of his surgery says. But from what I can tell, he's a fighter. And from what the authorities can tell, so are you."

"The police probably have some routine questions for me, I bet."

"It's a bet you'd win. I told them I wanted to check on your hand first."

"When will he be out of surgery?"

"Sam? Oh, I can't say for sure. Repairing that tendon is a feat. But I can assure you he has the best surgeons any hospital a hundred counties over have to offer."

"Thanks, but I'm pretty sure they pay you guys to say that," Dean said casually, and Dr. Howser put his head down and let out a small laugh.

"Maybe, but fortunate for you, I'm also telling the truth," he replied, extending his arm down in front of Dean who only looked up at him curiously. "Now, about that hand."

"I've had broken bones before, no big deal," Dean told him, wishing he could skip the next few lectures.

"That may be true, but how many were a result of self-infliction?"

"Hey, I don't get off on self-harm, if that's what your concern is."

"Not at all. It's just not every day I get someone in here who broke their hand pulling it out of handcuffs. They make those things tight for a reason."

Dean shook his head.

"Sam needed me. What else was I supposed to do?"

Dr. Howser considered the other possible outcome, though he wasn't certain of the entire situation he believed he knew enough.

"You're quite the hero, Dean."

"Nah," Dean protested, waving his usable hand in the air. "I'm a big brother."

"You must also have a very high threshold for pain. Morphine has been out of your system for half an hour."

"Yeah, I'm pretty much invincible," Dean answered indifferently, pretending not to wince as the doctor unraveled the bandages around his hand.

"Pretty much, huh. Is that because you're a big brother, too?" Dr. Howser grinned and Dean rolled his eyes.

"No, it's cuz I'm a hero."

"Funny. Well, your hand is looking better. Your wrist may be swollen for a couple days. It seems you've been in similar positions before, so you probably know all about ice packs and proper medicinal procedures. Am I right?"

"Probably."

"I'd like to get one more X-ray before you check out," Dr. Howser recommended. "Which you can leave shortly after I get your script ready."

"That's fine, doc. I won't be leaving until Sam leaves. And I don't need any drugs to make me feel better."

"You mean you don't even want to sell them on the streets?" Dr. Howard teased. Dean's eyes widened with astonishment.

"Are you sure you're licensed in the right field?"

"Just a small joke. Please don't sue me for that. My last lawsuit nearly got me fired." The doctor winked and Dean could hear the chuckle in his voice. At least, he appreciated the assumption that Dr. Howser really was just kidding.

Dean enjoyed the light conversation. It helped take his mind off of the million things that could be going wrong in Sam's operation. He forced a bright smile.

"I can't afford a decent lawyer, so you're safe."

-:-

Moments after his hand was bandaged back up and Dr. Howard left, Dean prepared his speech for the two police officers waiting outside the door. He walked out of the room quietly, watched the officers conversing amongst themselves, and was a bit surprised when they hardly took notice of him.

"Excuse me," Dean began, clearing his throat. "You guys need to ask me some questions?"

One of the officers, short with red hair, turned startled green eyes to Dean. The other one looked a bit miffed.

"Um, I don't think so," the shorter cop said.

"Uh, _I _think so…about the whole warehouse incident? Don't you have some investigation to take care of?"

The taller one scratched his chin, mulling over the poised question. His eyes then lit up.

"Oh! You're the guy who fainted."

Dean threw back his head and grimaced.

"I didn't faint!"

The shorter one straightened his belt and held up a hand.

"No worries, the investigation is underway. We have enough evidence to suggest foul play on Gordon Walker's part with his accomplice Isaac Miller. It's clear in your case it was self-defense. You can make your statement, but we don't need to ask any questions."

Dean looked confused. He threw a knife into someone's heart and twisted it, and they didn't need to ask at least a few questions? He exhaled sharply, somewhat relieved but still not understanding. It was then in the corner of his eye he saw Andy standing further down the hall, a smile plastered on his face while he sheepishly feigned innocence.

Dean quickly dismissed himself from the officer's presence and walked over to Andy.

"Did you…" Dean started, and Andy tilted his head.

"Maybe, kind of, a little bit. They were going to ask you stupid questions with obvious answers, anyway."

They walked down the hall slightly grinning, making their way to the waiting area and each took a seat.

It was silent for a few minutes. Some TV was on somewhere in the background, the sounds of it nothing but indistinct mumbles and noise. Dean was trying not to think about anything particular. He could put himself so easily back inside the warehouse, cuffed and watching Sam's execution play out in his head. But he didn't need to while he was awake because surely the memories would just haunt him in his sleep now for a while.

He'd come close to losing Sam before, close to losing his own life. But this was something new, something different. It wasn't a monster or a ghost, a possessed semi-truck driver or fire that tried taking Sam. It was a human, and a hunter at that. Someone doing what they do, seeking out and killing the bad guys—had mistaken Sam for just that. This made for an entire reconstruction of how Dean would face the world now. He had more things to protect Sam from, more dangers to watch out for. Things just continued to get harder for them.

It was funny to Dean for a brief moment, how he suddenly felt he and Sam were to be ostracized from the Hunting Community, the Roadhouse and all its patrons; yet just weeks ago he hadn't even been aware there was such a community. It didn't matter, though, not in the least. It was always just him and Sam before, and it could be that way forever. They made one hell of a team, as it were.

"Pardon me, but are you Dean?" A voice disrupted his thoughts, bringing him back to reality.

"Yeah, I am."

"I'm Dr. Hale, Sam's doctor. He just got out of surgery."

"God, is he okay?" Dean scrambled to his feet, eyes wide with anticipation.

"He's sleeping right now, still under anesthetics. We repaired the damage to his Achilles tendon as best we could. Only time will tell how well and fast it'll heal up, but I believe we can expect a full recovery with lots of physical therapy. If the tendon was severed just half a centimeter over, I'm not certain it would have been repairable. He's very lucky."

"When can I see him?"

"Once the nurses get him situated back in his room, you can visit him. It may be a while before he wakes up. When he does wake up, he'll have a lot of medication being pumped into his body, so I'm not sure how coherent he'll be."

"That's fine. What room will he be in?"

"Room 210. Also, be advised we'd like to keep him here for close observation the next couple of days. Depending on his recovery rate, we'll keep you informed of when he can be discharged."

"Thanks, doctor."

Dr. Hale smiled briskly and went on his way.

"Keep me posted on him, will you? I've got some things to take care of. Plus, I haven't slept in two days and I think I could pass out at any moment," Andy mentioned, yawning. Dean clapped him on the shoulder.

"Get some rest. I'll keep you updated."

Andy sighed, rubbed his eyes, and started to walk away. Dean called out to him quickly.

"Hey!"

He stopped and turned. "Yeah?"

"Thanks, Andy. For everything. I owe you one."

"Well, you do have a pretty sweet ride I've been eying…" Andy smirked. Dean deadpanned. "But it's more your style than mine," he continued warmly. Then Andy turned the corner out of sight. Dean took in a deep breath, smiling, and began heading to room 210.

-:-

Minutes melted into hours, hours went on for eternities, but all the while Dean sat at Sam's bedside and waited for him to wake up. For some time, Dean kind of enjoyed watching his brother simply rest. He was asleep, someplace distant, away from all the pain and memories that would haunt him the moment his eyes opened and everything came flooding back to him. But during that time he was thankful, he was also miserable and missed his brother intensely.

He looked at the bottle of pills next to him that he was informed to take, to help manage his own pain. But they'd make him tired, and Dean wanted to be awake and functional when Sam awoke.

Dean carefully brushed the bangs out of Sam's eyes. He looked like a little kid again, all young and helpless, but he was safe now and that was enough. Sam stirred, mumbling something that took Dean a moment to figure out was his name.

"Sammy? Hey, can you hear me?"

"Dean?" Sam tried again. His voice was soft but the edges of it scratched in his throat.

"How you holding up, kiddo?"

Sam could hardly open his eyes, but he attempted to several times.

"I guess I'm alive," he said, squinting in the dimly lit room, searching for his brother. Dean stood up, leaning over Sam so he was visible to him.

"That's what matters," Dean whispered. He put his hand on Sam's shoulder and rested it there. "You had me scared for a while. Thought I lost you…"

Sam took in a long, slow breath.

"Nope," Sam opened his eyes a bit wider, really taking in the sight of his brother. He gave his best but pathetic attempt at a smile. Then he glanced over to Dean's other hand bandaged up and he frowned. "Your hand…broken?"

"Eh, I'll live."

"Broken…cuz of me?"

Dean stiffened but kept his expression light. "Don't worry about it. You've got your own battle scars to worry about there, kid."

Sam turned his head slightly to his side. The full effects of the damage hadn't yet settled into him. He couldn't register everything that hurt because right now nothing really did. He just felt tingly and sore and tired.

"The last thing I saw…you…you killed Gordon. Stopped him from…killing me," Sam said through a tightening throat. Something distinctly familiar as tears glistened in his half-shut eyes.

Dean wasn't about to look ashamed. He would never regret what he did; just that he had to do it.

"I wasn't about to back down on my promise, Sam. I told you once. I won't let anything bad happen to you. I only wish I had gotten their sooner…"

"I'm sorry."

Sam's apology leapt up and choked Dean.

"Sorry for what?"

"Whatever plans…the demon has...I put you in danger…I put everyone I love…in danger. And I gotta say…you're in danger the most, Dean. I can't…I don't know how to save you from…myself."

Dean silently cursed the burning sensation stinging his eyes. He looked away at Sam, squeezed his shoulder and laughed out a small cry.

"I'm with you till the end, Sammy. But I'm going to do everything in my power to make sure the end isn't for a very, very, very long time."

Sam's tired smile returned, and his eyes glanced up towards Dean. He lifted his arm, slow and weakly, requiring most all the energy he had. His fingers sprawled open and he reached for Dean. Dean noticed immediately and put his hand in Sam's. Their fingers intertwined, strong and tight. Sam started to close his eyes but fought to keep them open.

"It's okay," Dean lulled. "Get some more rest. I'll be here when you wake up."

Sam shut his eyes one last time, squeezed Dean's hand until it relaxed and his breathing evened out.

Dean would wait there for Sam, with Sam. He'd wait forever for Sam. And when Sam would wake up, he'll tell him all about Andy and what happened. He'll explain to him how they'd pick a town to stay in for a while as Sam underwent his physical therapy. They'd stay someplace nice as they healed from both physical and emotional wounds.

But just for now, while Sam slept, Dean will wait at his bedside. Dean will wait at the only place he knows how to, on the only side he'd ever choose to:

His brother's side.

-:-S-U-P-E-R-N-A-T-U-R-A-L-:-

* * *

_I'm sorry Sam wasn't in much of this, but if I didn't end it the way I did, this story could have gone on for a long time, and I have other ideas I'd like to try out. I really kind of got carried away with Dr. Howser, I have no idea why I made him the way I did, but yeah…I did. I really truly hope you've all enjoyed the ride. Thanks for sticking with me till the end, as quickly it seems it did arise. Feedback of any kind is appreciated._

_Silver Kitten_


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